Let's Pretend
by directedbysherlock
Summary: In a moment of crisis, there is only one thing Greg Lestrade can think of...Molly Hooper, and what he can't live without asking her no matter how it ends. The Holmes brothers clash over Mycroft's morally dubious decisions, which causes Mycroft to question the state of his life. Written as five separate vignettes in the style of 221b ficlets. Mollstrade, Mythea, hint of Johnlock.


_**Need**_

_Must be quiet can only send texts_

_Plane hijacked _

_Me and others are going to try to overcome them soon _

_So I have to tell you something right now_

_You're the best thing that ever happened to me_

_I love you more each day_

_We've lived together for a while now_

_Was going to ask you to marry me when I got back_

_I need you to know I was going to ask_

_Wanted to surprise you I had it all planned_

_I want to do it now_

_I have the ring _

_It is in my sock drawer_

_Please go get it _

_Can you see me? _

_Let's pretend you can_

_I am on my knee_

_Marry me Molly_

_Be my wife_

_Please put it on and let's pretend I put it there _

_Then I have trouble getting up my knee is bad we both are laughing_

_I'm thinking of how you fit just under my chin when we are dancing_

_How you curve into me so exactly when we are sleeping_

_How every time we make love is like the first_

_You made my life worth living_

_Years at the Yard should have prepared me for this _

_Fuck this is hard but must face it be brave_

_I would do anything to come home to you_

_Have to go now becau_

_**Still**_

It had been kind of Mycroft to fetch her in his sleek black car. Kind to provide access to a VIP lounge, away from the pandemonium in the rest of the terminal.

"Can I get you a coffee? Tea?" John asked, his eyes sympathetic.

Molly sat upright in the chair, hands neatly folded on her lap, a small black velvet box tucked underneath them.

She did not answer. She would remain still, detached.

She would not cry. She would be a statue.

Statues did not feel or cry.

"Anything at all," Sherlock added, his expression grave.

Inexplicably the plane had turned back and landed without crashing. But by whom, no one knew. The hijackers? The crew? A silence now hung over the plane on the tarmac, surrounded by emergency vehicles with flashing red lights.

"Well, just let us know," John said, patting her arm awkwardly.

She had found the ring. She had pulled the drawer out ferociously and threw it down, wood splitting, contents scattering. It was beautiful, sparkling in the light. His choice was perfect. But she would not put it on. He had asked her to, but she could not. She wanted to believe he would do it himself.

She would wait. Still. Safe, behind this alabaster shell. For as long as it took for him to come back.

_**Bitter**_

The Holmes brothers stood outside the terminal, smoking.

"How thoughtful to send your private car for Molly," Sherlock drawled.

"Maybe I'm the thoughtful type," Mycroft replied, artfully blowing out smoke.

"No, you really aren't," Sherlock growled suddenly. "I smell a rat. It's like you already knew what was going to happen."

Angry, Sherlock threw his cigarette to the sidewalk. "_Because you_ _did_. You risked all those lives."

"A calculated risk," Mycroft conceded, no longer coy. "We baited the hijackers. It had to seem real. At least you didn't botch the plan this time. I couldn't tell you, obviously."

"You knew Lestrade was on that flight."

"Yes. And my undercover rescue team handled it. Lestrade passed out during the controlled depressurization, he won't remember what happened."

Sherlock glanced inside at Molly and Lestrade, wrapped in each other's arms.

"Lestrade always trusted you. How foolish of him," Sherlock seethed. "Sacrifice a few for the many, is that it?" He felt ill.

Mycroft shrugged. "If necessary."

Mycroft flicked his cigarette away with his fingertips. "You've gone soft, Sherlock. The good guys are safe; the bad guys are in custody. It worked. Let's pretend we never had this conversation, shall we? It's for the best."

"Best for you," Sherlock replied sarcastically, words dripping from his mouth like honey, but all he could taste was bitterness.

_**Patriot**_

Mycroft sat in a chair with its back to her, smoke curling upwards. Anthea could see his elegant hand holding a brandy, decanter on the side table.

He only smoked around Sherlock. He only drank when upset. If he smoked _and_ drank, that usually meant he was upset over Sherlock.

"Everything all right, Sir?" she asked carefully.

"Sherlock, my own brother, looked at me like I was a monster," said the quiet voice. "Am I a monster, Anthea?"

Her heart lurched. He was anything but that, to her. He was in a strangely dark mood, considering their plan had succeeded.

She perched on the chair's arm and brushed hair from his forehead, his expression melancholy. He allowed her fingertips to linger.

"No, Mycroft," she said proudly. "You're a patriot." Her hand then moved up his thigh, to his zipper. She had ways of making him forget his pain.

Mycroft laughed derisively. "What does that even mean?" He scowled. "I never wanted to forfeit the love of my brother for my love of country."

"Sometimes we must sacrifice the few for the many," Anthea intoned, hand slowly stroking.

He shuddered with pleasure, sighed with regret, unexpectedly dismayed at hearing the familiar, hackneyed, indoctrinating, abysmally necessary words.

He gently caressed her cheek.

"I taught you too well. Spoken like a true heartless bastard."

_**Perfect**_

In their softly lit bedroom, Lestrade ghosted his lips across her shoulders, his arms around her waist, standing behind her.

He nuzzled her neck as she held her hand in front of them, admiring her ring.

Molly sighed. "It's perfect."

"You're perfect," he murmured, one hand moving higher to cup said perfect breast, the other sliding across the smooth bare skin of her hip.

His perceptions had intensified since leaving the airport, surprisingly alive, just hours ago.

He was desperate to breathe, to taste, to feel, to fuck, to love. No more pretending, no more wasting time on unimportant things.

She turned in the circle of his arms, facing him. His heart surged as her eyes looked up at him. He drank in every beloved detail.

"Not embarrassed I proposed properly in front of the whole airport, then?" he teased, taking her hand, kissing her fingers from the tips down to the wrist. "Just like I said I would, bad knee and all."

"I love you so much," she blurted, tears finally falling. "You came back to me. I never wanted anything so badly in my life." Arms around his neck, she kissed him passionately.

Desire boiled hot beneath his skin. "Right now I want _you_," he breathed against her raggedly, overcome with love, laying her down gently on their bed.


End file.
